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As if sensing my internal battle, he raises an eyebrow. “I feel a little like Sam-I-Am inGreen Eggs and Ham. How can you say you don’t like them if you haven’t tried them?”
“I ate the fry you cooked. Don’t you remember?”
“Barely. You had one. You can’t form an opinion or fall in love with something with just one.”
I swallow the lump lodged in my throat and disagree with him about not falling for something, or in my case, someone, after only one time. I’ve had sex with a few men and only once with Tom, but I can easily and undoubtedly say, after Tom, nothing compares.
His voice cuts through my reverie. “Leighton, did you hear me? Have you ever eaten a plate of fries?”
Flushed and discombobulated, I nod, not trusting my voice.
He quickly counters, “When?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “When I was, like, six.”
“Doesn’t count.” He folds his arms over his chest, clearly pleased with himself, and leans back into his chair.
“And why not?”
“How can you possibly remember that you don’t like them?” He picks up a fry like I’m somehow clueless about the topic. “Seriously. This is golden, crunchy goodness.” He pops it into his mouth.
“This is silly.” I wave my fork around, more for something to do than because I’m hungry.
“If it’s so silly, then just eat them and I’ll never speak of them again. And better yet, you’ll never have to see another fry. Come on, we’ve got at least three more days. That’s nine meals of fries.”
I groan and roll my eyes despite how amusing he is. Without asking, I snatch one from his plate and take a bite. He holds his breath as if the future of humankind rests on my consumption of potatoes.
Because two can play at his game, once done, I dab at the corners of my mouth with the napkin and sip at my water. His smile grows and eyes widen with every second that ticks by without a word from me.
I quirk a brow and load my fork with a bite of my salad. “Satisfied?”
“Nope. You gotta have a whole plate full. “ He crosses his arms. “But what did you think?”
I lick at the salt lingering on my top lip. The taste reminds me of Tom. Mineral and natural, and I so wish I could kiss him again, run my tongue along his chest, suck at his neck.
Jesus Christ, why am I torturing myself like this?
“Leighton, quit stalling and answer the question.”
“They weren’t bad. I can see why so many people love them.”
“You’re joking, right? I totally expected to have to go all Sam-I-Am on you again.” He looks disappointed, lips turned down at the corners, eyes crinkled in a bothered kind of way.
Suddenly, I have the urge to stuff all his fries in my mouth, only to make him smile or better yet, laugh. Or best of all, for a kiss.
God, what is my problem? Not now or ever will I do something so ludicrous for someone else, especially a man.
“Not going to happen.” I start munching away on my salad, hoping he gets the hint and drops this topic. I never want to talk about fries again.
“Fine. Well done for trying the ones I made and tonight’s. But I’m not even close to being satisfied.” The deep rumble in the back of his throat on the last word causes my eyes to fly to his.
Whether intentional or not, I can’t deny that I caught his innuendo. And why does that cause a thrill to race up my spine? I’m not even close to being satisfied either.
19
LEIGHTON
The rest of our meal goes by in mutual silence, and when our server asks if we want dessert, we both pass. I pay the check and while doing so, I sense Tom’s scrutinizing gaze on me.
